


Artificial Heart

by emetal



Series: Artificial Heart AU [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2020-10-06 10:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20505713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emetal/pseuds/emetal
Summary: I wanted to laugh, I wanted to sob, I wanted to scream out. Yet, I couldn’t. I was paralyzed in my own utter shock and fear. My hoodie was torn, my arm bled out, and had he aimed a little closer, I would’ve been dead. Hell, I’m good as dead already.I deserve this.





	1. The End of the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> _“War is hell, but that’s not the half of it, because war is also mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love. War is nasty; war is fun. War is thrilling; war is drudgery. War makes you a man; war makes you dead.” — Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried (1990)_

The whirring of failing machinery filled my senses, smoke rapidly filling the cockpit of the mech. I struggled against the belts, and ignored the stinging gash on the lower half of my right arm. Too much ran through my mind to allow me to think rationally, thoughts of my past, my future, the life I’d be losing in minutes. Hell, even seconds.

I never feared death, but I was so… so close to getting what I’d always dreamed that, for a second, I almost did. 

My heart pounded, my arms shaking as I fumbled with the belt straps a little more. The mechanical death was almost unbearable as it grew more intense, more ragged. I choked on the air around me, not enough of the fumes escaped the hole of shattered glass to make any sort of immediate difference. Time passed painfully slowly, my meeting with the reaper inching closer by the millisecond. 

I wanted to laugh, I wanted to sob, I wanted to scream out. Yet, I couldn’t. I was paralyzed in my own utter shock and fear. My hoodie was torn, my arm bled out, and had he aimed a little closer, I would’ve been dead. Hell, I’m good as dead already. I could feel the gravity pressing down on me, the shattered glass coated the area and I could practically feel fire in my lungs.  
The sky, what I could see of it, seemed to lower more rapidly by the second. One last exhale left my lungs as I prepared for the worst. I let go of all controls and let the head of my mech fall. _I deserve this._

The impact with the ground was incomparable. All sensation was lost. A high ringing filled my ears, bright light covered my vision, weight heavy on my body. Despite my form’s protests, I pushed against the hot, dense metal that surrounded me. Pained grunts escaped my throat, moreso upon the realization that my left arm was entirely mangled. The heavy scent of iron — blood and metal — made me gag. Regardless, I (quite literally) kept pushing forward. 

A slight shift in the metal only motivated me more. I couldn’t die here, in the dark. I couldn’t die alone. I shifted my weight into my other, mostly functioning arm. With a final heave, the piece on top of me gave way and the setting sun filled my vision. 

I stood on unsteady legs. It took the remainder of my strength to stay upright. I had hardly noticed the orange vehicle two of my men had come out of. It was only when I heard Patryk’s choked sob that gravity hit me.

I was alive.

I looked behind me, not being able to understand the horrified looks on their faces. I was breathing, our dumb little militia would survive another day. A gust of wind passed over the near silence, making me stumble, making my left arm sting… and the left half of my face. 

“Christ,” I spit out. I took one step, then another. It was a slow process, but I had hobbled to one of the arms built inside of the robot, the least mangled of them all. Picking it up, I sat at the edge of the cliffside.

I was in perfect view with my friends- no. The remnants of those dirty traitors’ house. I watched the expressions on their faces the best I could. They… they were smiling, laughing, even. Arms around each other, they supported Tom. 

Fury filled my blood, adrenaline pumping through my veins, numbing any physical pain I had felt before the sight. How dare they? I thought, If anyone should be nearing death, it should be him!  
Paul had begun to attempt to stop any more blood loss from happening, paying close attention to my deeper wounds. “I told you this idea was harebrained, Tord.” Patryk shoved him, not hard enough to knock him into my frame, but just barely enough to give a signal. One that meant “silence.”

The only sounds were that of the nature surrounding us three. That, and the smoking remnants of my project. Paul finished his shoddy caring of my injuries before heading back to the car, starting it once more. The sun continued to set, the orange glow was almost calming.

Patryk lingered a bit more, pretending to salvage the pieces he could of my handiwork. He edged behind me, “Tord, I-”

“No. I don’t want to hear it,” I cut him off.

“Sir…”

“Go away.”

He stood quietly behind me.

“I said go away!” I growled

More silence, but still no leaving me behind. 

“I… I’m glad you’re alive, sir.”


	2. Recovery

The amputation wasn’t the hard part. No, that was a breeze. The hardest part was the recovery. Adjusting to the lack of sensation, yet total overwhelming feeling at once. It was unbearable.

It took an eternity to even have my flesh heal enough to even think of a replacement attempt. Even then, it was uncertain if my body — my nerves — would accept the new piece, if my technology was advanced enough. Nevertheless, we proceeded. 

Electric tools whirred around me, almost constantly making adjustments to the metal attachments I had built initially for the mech. Of course, there had to be tweaks done to have it respond to human action, but it didn’t make the pain any more tolerable. My mind wore to the hum of drills, flashing sparks, the need to be absolutely and utterly still. Some days my mind wandered, leaving me to hope I did die in the explosion, or at least on impact with the ground. 

Some days I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t. That this wasn’t my personal Hell; a constant image of my failure, how I was irreparably disfigured, regardless of how hard my men tried. The constant surroundings of cold, grey stone, a dampness in the air, fading metal parts, it all made the experience worse. I thought if I wasn’t dead, I’d die in this place.

When they attached the arm, _”my”_ arm, I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry out. It was just another day without the sunlight, another day on the operation table. My mind had tried to block it all out, hide it away to never see another second of it. I was unaware, yet over aware. I hadn’t made a sound until, after months without sensation in my left side, I could feel it. 

The metal weighed heavy on my shoulder. I lifted the limb towards my face, running cold fingers over the deep, pale scars. I shivered, _could this be real? Is my suffering over?_

I used both arms, new and organic, to push myself into a sitting position. I blinked, turning my head to the side. Patryk looked relieved, his eyes watery. “So, how’s it feel, sir?”

I bent my fingers inwards, then outwards again. I was still in a dazed state, still uncomfortably numb. I grunted as I pushed myself off the operating table and looking towards the taller man. I placed my head on his chest momentarily before collapsing, a sob escaping my throat. “Get me out of here.”


	3. A Story about Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” — Moulin Rouge! (2001)_

I could never forget the way my heart fluttered when I saw him for the first time. We were only kids, high school sophomores. His dark, warm brown hair parted in the middle and flowed around his face in such a perfect way. His eyes were like emeralds. Sure, he was lanky and not fully grown into his features quite yet, but he was stunning.

_Patryk…_

I never even thought he’d notice me, I was just the emo kid with the trenchcoat and poorly dyed hair, there wasn’t much _to_ notice. But, as cliché as it sounds, he was different. I guess it never hit me that the new foreign student and I were one in the same: outcasts. Perhaps that’s why he sat with me the first day he arrived. 

“Hello,” he said formally.

“Hey, man,” I replied, moving slightly in my seat to give him room to sit.

And that was the beginning. The blossoming of a lifelong friendship. No, a lifelong romance. A love so powerful that it withstood all trials and tribulations, our affection fought the cold.

The years when I moved away from my hometown in Norway to spend in England with Edd were some of the loneliest. Despite my small fling with my roommate, nothing felt as right as smoking weed in my mother’s van with Patryk. Nothing felt as right as sneaking out to see him when the moon was high, or throwing glass bottles from high places as we sang out a melody to the world. A melody that said one thing; fuck you to everyone who told us we couldn’t make it. 

It was pure luck he stayed at the same apartment he’d rented senior year. Knocking, my hands shook as I placed them in the pocket of my red hoodie. He looked towards me, and I could see the sparks of recognition fire in his eyes. I smiled as I took in his new attire, I never thought him to be the kind to wear yellow shirts or sky blue flannels, but I’d be lying if he didn’t look astounding in it. 

“Tord?” 

I nodded, the feeling one gets before crying rose in my heart, and I couldn’t hold it back as he embraced me. I held onto the taller man tightly, inhaling the comforting scent of him and feeling an immediate calm over my being. Home _is_ where the heart is, right?

I can’t remember when we stopped being just flatmates and became best friends, and I remember even less when we progressed into lovers. But, I hadn’t ever minded. All I knew was every day I fell harder for him, for the way he enunciated his sentences, for the way he caressed my body at night, for the way he seemed to light up every room he entered.

I loved him.

I loved him.

I loved him until the very end.


	4. Control

“You wouldn’t dare do something that rash.”

I started down the older man, his bald head was shining with sweat covered worry. His fitted black suit looked stiff on his body. His frame had a slight hunch, and his decrepit figure looked more weak and unsightly than he probably intended. I almost pitied him.

“And now, tell me, why wouldn’t I?” I responded. My voice was calm, cold, powerful.

“Who would ever support you, your men, your cause?”

“Fear has a way with people.”

“Think of your reputation!”

I laughed at his futile attempt to dissuade me. “_My_ reputation? How would the surviving civilians feel about a president who fell to a militia from the middle of nowhere?”

He stiffened, readjusting himself, trying to make himself look stronger and more confident. “Your… your threats mean nothing to me, Red Leader. I will not give my country to you.”

“Suit yourself, Mr. President.” I reached my robotic arm into my navy blue coat, feeling a pistol I had gotten past the, honestly quite weak, security system that was in place. I turned and looked out of the tall glass window to the ground below. Stationed at every corner was one of my men. Lifting two fingers of my free hand, I signalled. Yuu nodded sending a silent order to every soldier.

Three.

Two.

One.

I whipped out the pistol, holding it to the face of the (soon to be former) leader of the unionized state. In that moment, explosions, gun fire, and the horrified shouts of terrified civilians erupted. “So what was it you were saying?” I growled.

“You monster. You sick motherfucker,” His voice shook.

I grinned and pulled the trigger, blood coating my uniform, splattering onto my face.

This was only the beginning.


	5. Breaking Point

Crack!

The painful sound of metal meeting jaw broke through the small room. He was a prisoner of war, no, a traitor. I paced towards the lowlife spy. He was one of my men, and even now he wore the signature blue coat all serving members of the Red Army bore. Hell, maybe at some point in my life, I had considered him a friend.

But not anymore. Now, as he was bound and on his knees, he was at my total mercy.

“It doesn’t have to end this way, soldier,” I tried reasoning as I paced around him. “I can demote you, and we can pretend none of this…_nonsense_,” I had paused, and knelt in front of him, “... ever happened. All you have to do is swear your allegiance to us.”

“Over my dead fuckin’ body,” He snarled, yet slurred. My hit had clearly done a number on him. 

Standing, I raised the revolver to him, then lowered it again. I exhaled, turned my back and regained my composure. I faced him once more. “You lied to me, infiltrated my army, ascended the ranks of men greater than you, just for what? To destroy us from the inside?” I kicked him in the chest, knocking him further to the ground. “Or, maybe, was it to kill me, soldier?”

He coughed, some blood leaving his mouth. “This can’t go on, Tord-”

Another hit from the handgun, and another hard kick to his weakening body, his weakening will. “Do not call me that! I am the Red Leader!” Adrenaline filled my veins like a roaring flame as I lost all self control. I don’t know why, but something snapped in me. A loose wire sparked. I couldn’t stop. 

I shot him in the foot, and a pain scream left his throat. The scream became nothing more than a gurgling noise as I placed my heel on his throat and stomped it in. Over and over. Red covering red. 

“I am what the planets revolve around!” Another kick to his chest. “I am holy! I am divine!” A shot to the arm. My mind blurred, and nothing mattered as I kept brutalizing the body, even far after it was gone. It became more about killing him than it ever was about protecting everything I’d done, everything I’d worked for over the past 20 years.

I never even felt the tears streaming down my face as I continued to beat the body into a pulp. I never was aware of what I was capable of until that day. I don’t think I ever came back, or maybe I came back too rapidly to notice.

Knock. Knock. “Tord? It’s been hours, are you okay?”

I said nothing. My punches became weaker, slower, but I couldn’t stop. The gory scene was engraved on my mind and stained on my uniform, on my gloves, in the crevices of my robotic arm. 

My husband unlocked the door. I could feel the horror in him as he saw me there, dimly lit in front of the battered remains of someone we once knew. My eyes red from crying, my body shaking, the scent of iron lingering in the air.

“Oh, God, honey…” He whispered. He knelt beside me and helped me from the floor, and escorted me away. My legs shook and my voice quiet, “I killed him, Pat.”

“We kill prisoners all the time, sir.”

“No, I… I kept killing him. Over and over and over.”

Silence. 

Some of the worst silence of my life.


	6. Passion (NSFW)

I breathed softly in the afterglow. The air was warm, our bodies were hot. Our heartbeats beat in time, and the scent of sex lingered. I gazed lovingly into the eyes of Patryk, my husband, the love of my life, and sighed contently. He always treated me so well.

I weakly reached my hands towards his head, running my fingers through his soft hair. I pulled him in for a kiss, moaning quietly occasionally. God I loved him. 

That’s all I could think about in that moment, how much I loved him. Everything about him was so… so perfect. His kisses were so sweet, his movements were so precise, making me feel a way only he had perfected. All of our time spent together, no matter if it was physically or emotionally intimate, was absolutely heavenly.

I pulled away from the kiss, panting. “I love you,” I whispered.

“Shhh,” He pulled me close to him and left a final kiss on my forehead. “I love you so much, kitten.”

I started to drift into sleep. “I’ll love you for as long as you want me around.”

“How about forever, then?”

“Forever.”


	7. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I am a wicked man… but do you know, gentlemen, what was the main point about my wickedness? The whole thing, precisely was, the greatest nastiness precisely lay in my being shamefully conscious every moment, even in moments of the greatest bile, that I was not only a wicked man but was not even an embittered man, that I was simply frightening sparrows in vain, and pleasing myself with it.” - Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes From Underground_

I gazed over my kingdom, my domain, my world through the glass window overlooking the crowd below. These people were my playthings and I?

I was their God, their master.

Thousands waited in the sea of people below me, anticipating my word. Anything, no, everything I said was absorbed into their sheepishly frightened and malleable minds. No one dare speak against me or my word.

God help those that did.

My mind wandered to the spy from years ago. Blood and gore flashed through my head, images that were still engraved returning. I shook before focusing on the task at hand. The time was now.

I adjusted my suit, flicking my cuffs out, messing with my tie meticulously, and making my greying hair look presentable. That day was just like any other day where I was to give a speech. Another spew of communistic propaganda, some bullshit about the exploitation of the working class. I exhaled.

Kissing my husband, I descended the stairway. He followed closely behind.

“Honey, I Have a bad feeling about this,” Patryk commented.

“Why’s that, love?”

“I’m not sure but I… I don’t think you should be down there. You’ve been getting so cocky and letting your guard down and I…” He stopped. “Please don’t go today.”

I faced him and smiled sweetly, “I’ll be okay, okay?” I cupped his face in my gloved hand and kissed his cheek gently before heading out to the platform, opening the grand doors of my “base”.

Cheers, jeers, and everything in between filled my senses as I took my stand at the podium. A grin spread across my face and I took in all of the noise. Soon, the sound died and I looked from the left to the right.

Clearing my throat, I tapped the microphone in front of me. 

“Hello, citizens…” And thus, I began. Talking on and on about how, despite my autocracy, the war wasn’t over. The fight for our cause was never ending, and there were terrorists trying to take the world back to it’s ununified state.

The last moments were a blur, almost in slow motion. Words left my mouth, clapping and hollering whenever I’d make a grand statement. The fabric of my suit and other dress wear moved with me. The heat of my mechanical hand warmed the leather glove it was entrapped in. Just another day, just another… 

The crack of gunfire shot through the air. Once, then twice. 

Screaming. Running. Panic. And then, silence. 

Only ringing filled my ears as I stumbled backwards, pain soared through my head. The sky rose, and the ground grabbed me. 

Darkness.

_Oh god, Patryk. Is Patryk okay?_

Darkness.

I tried to speak, yearning for my husband, but my body was shutting down, growing cold. 

Darkness.

I wanted to say goodbye. 

Darkness.

I wanted him to know I loved him.

Darkness.

And then, nothing.


End file.
